Guests at the party: 50

Hosts: 1

Dead bodies: 1

Suspects: 50

Number of eyes at the party: unknown

I've always had a relationship with numbers. To explain the reason for it would be difficult. I could say that numbers are comforting and constant, which I think is often why people form a bond with something, but that would be a lie. Simply a lie. I could say that numbers interest me, but that would be a gross simplification. Numbers just... are. And I am as well. So we exist together. Numbers are everywhere and they are in everything. We should all have a bond with them. We should all see their importance, respect them.

That's a very simplified explanation that doesn't completely explain why I love numbers, but it's an explanation that Delilah Black not only understood, but could expand upon. He had this way with words, this way with explanations. People never called him "the odd one". That's my title, after all.

Looking at him now, so lifeless, it's weird to think that numbers are still all I can focus on.

Breaths taken: 0

Blinks per minute: 0

Movements: 0

Eyes: 2

I smile. He's got 2 eyes. I hide the smile because others might think it's weird or suspicious, but Delilah would have understood. 2 is more than 0. So even in death, there's still something. Numbers are still there, even if the numbers are smaller.

I sigh, thinking about how we were supposed to have a conversation. We were supposed to talk about the numbers that made up the life of Delilah Black as it is today... or was yesterday.

You see, I knew Delilah through Gray Bennet, one of my best and only friends. We actually met because of my fascination with numbers, because of the thing that others think makes me "odd". We were both children at the time. Her parents had just died and her uncle, Delilah, has taken over as her guardian. He sent her to the same camp my parents sent me off to every summer to get some time away from me. That sounded bad... they loved me but they wanted some alone time.

Everyone else in at the camp already knew me; they'd already decided I was just some numbers-obsessed weird kid who could never answer any question simply, had the memory of a goldfish, and had the attention span of a puppy. So it's suffice to say I didn't really have any friends. It would also be accurate to say that Gray heard every single rumor about me. She just decided to talk to me anyways.

The first thing she said to me was, "Why do you count eyes? There's always two."

I'd never actually told anyone that I counted eyes. I always did it secretly, counted them during conversations that I wasn't paying attention to. It's actually the reason people thought I had a bad memory. I just... never knew what was said in the first place.

I didn't actually have an answer for her, though. There was no reason that normal people would understand. And my usual answer made people question my sanity. So I simply said, "I like to make sure."

She looked like she was going to say something, then paused for a bit. Gray didn't tell me at the time, but apparently the dead were the ones who told her about how I always counted eyes. They were also the ones who told her that I didn't count eyes just to be sure. The truth is that the only way to know how many eyes a person has is to count them. And every time I find the answer, I just feel such excitement. It was all just so surprising, so fascinating. I even counted Gray's eyes and would you believe she had 2? Only 2!

I'm getting distracted...

Gray! She was my first friend.  It's because of her that I met Delilah Black, the man whose birthday we'd gathered to celebrate. We weren't particularly close or anything. He was just one of the few people who didn't find me too odd to deal with. He thought my mind for numbers was a valuable trait. In fact, he was the only one I could actually talk to about numbers. Gray would listen, but she didn't quite connect. Delilah seemed to understand, at least slightly.

During the first interaction I had with Delilah, he taught me about prime numbers. He saw me gaping over the number of light bulbs in one particular room. It was different from the other rooms because of how the lights were set up. That's how I was drawn in.  The number, 3, was also different. Other rooms had an even number of light bulbs, but this one had 3.  Delilah came up to me and said, "I thought it'd be interesting to see if anyone noticed that the room is made up entirely of prime numbers. You're the first."

"Prime numbers?" I asked. I had no idea what they were at the time, but Delilah was more than happy to teach me.

Prime numbers, for those who don't know, are numbers for which the only factors are 1 and that number. Delilah and I talked about them for a while before Gray realized she'd lost me and came back to collect me from her uncle and redirect my attention away from numbers.

Gray... I wonder where she is. I move away from the motionless body of the only man I could talk to about numbers to find his niece. It must be hard for her. She lost her parents at a young age and now she loses her uncle, her father figure to someone who was supposed to care about him. I can't imagine.

I mean, I can imagine, but I can't technically relate. I've never experienced it. So while I imagine it's difficult for her, painful even, I have absolutely no clue.

I stop before I get to her door. There's already someone there, talking to Gray. Tanith Brink, I think her name was. I remember her face from last night. I remember everyone's face. I committed them all to memory so I could more easily count the number of guests in attendance because I kept counting and coming up with the number 49, but there were 50 names. Eventually, I figured out that it was Oliver Brooke who I kept forgetting to count. I had to have an actual conversation with him so I'd remember his face. Then my numbers matched.

Fascinating, isn't it? The way the mind works while working with numbers. No matter how sure the mind is, without proof it's unsettling, but once proof arrives there's a feeling elation to it all.

Tanith... I didn't know she and Gray were so close. Maybe I should come back later. I'll visit Gray and make sure she's not listening to the voices of the dead again. She's never told me how many dead follow her around - something about not even wanting to give them that amount of attention - but I really wish I knew. It'd be interesting to see how those numbers interact with the numbers of dead she actually knows.

I turn and walk away, trying to find something to distract myself. Then I remember that last night, I was finding out what numbers make up Delilah Black's life... and I never finished! I was going to finish in the morning and talk to Delilah about what I'd found, but then Delilah turned up dead.

But maybe I-

I hear a loud sound, like glass breaking from the other side of the door to my left. I walk up to the door, faintly remembering that I saw Kennedy Holmes walking down the hallway while I was going to find Gray. It only caught my attention because I've been seeing him wandering the halls a lot this morning. I decide to just confidently call out his name. I had a little over a 2 percent chance of being right. Those odds were good enough, especially since everyone already thought I was odd. If I called out the wrong name, they'd just think it was another one of my odd personality traits, like when I was counting the number of spoons in the manor.

I knocked on the door, calling out, "Kennedy? Kennedy, are you OK?"

I didn't get an answer, so I weighed my options. I could just leave. I'm not great with people anyways. Numbers are really more where my comfort zone is. People have so many emotions that can't be calculated and they act irrationally so often. I'm no exception, of course. I'm emotional and irrational... but that's how I know that people are difficult to deal with.

I decide that I should at least try the doorknob. If it's unlocked, I'll peak inside and I'll either realize that I wasted my time or... well there's a large number of possibilities. I can think of 7 right now... wait, 8. No, now it's 11.

I shake my head and open the door before I can use numbers to talk myself out of being a good person. What I see, though, I'm not ready for. I guess the shock is evident on my face because Kennedy - yes it was Kennedy - stares back at me like I'm already overreacting. I meet that look that says, "calm down" with my own panic as I rush over to inspect his hand. It's covered in blood.

I'm bad at "guestimating", which is why I always count, but if I had to guess, I'd say at least half of his hand is covered in blood. At least.

"What happened? Are you OK?" I ask. I mentally kick myself because the answer is quite clearly a resounding NO! The man's hand is covered in blood... his own it seems. Not that I was scared that it was someone else's, but I did just leave a murder scene.

"I'm fine," he responds. Yeah, I'm sure... whoa there's a lot of glass. I wonder... No, stay focused. There's a man bleeding.

"No, you are not," I respond, peeling my mind away from all the glass on the floor. "Sit down and let me help you."

I do the best I can to clean and wrap his hand, but I'm no doctor. I mean, it should hold for a while and maybe it'll stop bleeding, but maybe he should also get stitches or something. I don't know. What I do know is that I wrapped his hand 11 times. I could've stopped at 9, but 11 is better. Trust me, I'm not a doctor.

After I wrap him up, I usher him out of the bathroom. I have done my absolute best to be human and focus on the hurt person, but there are who-knows-how-many pieces of mirror on all over the bathroom that I can count. I know there's Delilah who's just died, but I also know that Delilah could appreciate this. I mean, how many pieces does a mirror even break into? That's prime counting!

I think I say that in my head, but if Kennedy's reaction is any indication, I must've at least mumbled it. But come on... how am I supposed to just pass up on this opportunity? This is a random number. A person didn't decide how many pieces it would break into. This was just random. This is numbers at it's most chaotic and in it's most pure form.

So, I count the glass shards while I clean it up. Part of me hopes that it ends in a prime number so that at least Delilah and I can share that one more time in his death. It would be kind of poetic or something, at least between the two of us.

Glass shards: 347

Yes, that number includes the pieces that are still dangling from the mirror frame. I have to make sure the number made the mirror whole.

After I've counted the final piece of the mirror, I wash my hands to make sure I didn't accidentally cut myself. That's when I see Gray walking in the garden. I guess she finished her talk with Tanith and now she wants some alone time. Again, I can't relate but I can kind of understand. If I lost someone in my family, I'd want to be away from everyone else for a bit too. I get it.

I walk down the hall, thinking of how Delilah could have died. Who could have killed him. If I'm being honest, everyone here probably could have done it. Everyone here probably had something to gain. I just don't know who could have - or have the absence of - a heart to do it.

I sigh, taking in everything around me as I walk and try to interact with the other guests. I notice Sandra with that present she'd been wrapping last night. I notice Alex Gen still blinks at a constant rate of 20 blinks per minute. I notice Nikita is still worried about that anxious friend of hers. I notice... I notice... nothing.

I notice nothing.

Where ware all the numbers? The important ones? Where are the numbers that make everything make sense? Where are the numbers that answer every question? Where are the numbers that will tell me who killed Delilah and why?

The only important numbers I have are the ones I had when I walked into the kitchen this morning.

Guests at the party: 50

Hosts: 1

Dead bodies: 1

Suspects: 50

No other numbers seem even slightly interesting anymore. So this is what grief feels like...